


Bathtub Hugs

by SailorChibi



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Age Play, Bond and Swann do not hook up in this one, Carrying, Cuddling, Daddy James Bond, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Headspace, Hurt/Comfort, Infantilism, Little Headspace, Little Q, Pacifiers, Platonic Cuddling, Protective James Bond, Q gets a hug, Q needs a hug, SPECTRE Fix-It, Stressed Q, Swann is so done with the world, alternate universe - littles are known, bottles, caregiver james bond, non sexual age play, non sexual infantilism, pull-ups, takes place during spectre, thumb sucking, uncle alec trevelyan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22295446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: Even after the failed kidnapping, Q was holding himself together until Swann pegged him as a Little. Luckily, Bond was there too.
Relationships: James Bond & Q
Comments: 36
Kudos: 386





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a tumblr request.

Come to MI6, they said. We need a Quartermaster, they said. You’ll be working behind the scenes, not out in the field, so your chances of danger are minimal, they said.

Bloody James Bond.

Q leaned back against the wall, his heart thudding so fast that it was leaving him light-headed. He stared at the door, certain that it was about to open at any moment – that those two men were about to walk in. Neither of them had looked friendly. Their cold, dead eyes made Q shudder. He clutched his bag to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut, holding his breath. The minutes slowly ticked by, each second feeling more like an hour, but there was nothing.

It still took Q far too long to pry himself away from the door. His legs were weak as he stumbled up the stairs, seeking solace back in the main part of the hotel. He told himself that it was unlikely they would try anything in public. That was why they’d tried to target him on the ski lift. It had been foolish on his part to enter the lift in the first place; he should’ve waited until he got to his hotel room to look at the ring.

He quickly made his way up to the room that had been registered for them. It was quiet and calm and, most importantly, there were several locks on the door. Q slid them all into place, making sure each one engaged, before he let himself slip to the floor. He put his back to the door and pulled his glasses off, then buried his face in his hands and just tried to remember how to breathe past the panic and adrenaline flooding through him. Thoughts of what _could have happened_ rested heavily on his shoulders.

“Damn you, Bond,” he whispered, wiping at his eyes. His already perilous grasp on his headspace had weakened further. A few tears slipped out despite his best efforts, but Q was quick to drag his sleeve across his face. He couldn’t cry. Not here. Not now. Bond didn’t need a Little right now; he needed MI6’s Quartermaster. Come hell or high water, Q was determined to give him the latter.

Q allowed himself a few minutes before forcing himself to his feet. Setting his bag aside and picking up his glasses, he walked into the loo and washed his face. A damp, cool cloth held to his eyes for several seconds helped to alleviate the redness and puffiness that had formed. He slid his glasses back on and looked at his face in the mirror, then shook his head. A disaster in the making, but hopefully Bond would be too wound up in the mission to notice.

Once he felt slightly more presentable, he set himself up at the only table in the room and resumed doing research. Q quickly lost himself in the data flashing across the screen and forgot all about the time passing, so he almost had a heart attack on the spot when the door handle rattled. His head shot up and he froze again, only then realizing that all but one of the locks on the door could be undone by the card reader, as the door opened just enough for a familiar eye to peer into the room.

“Q, let us in!” Bond hissed.

Right. Bond. Q exhaled shakily and stood, crossing the room. He closed the door and undid the last lock, then pulled it open fully. Bond immediately slipped past him, moving with the sort of cocky assurance that meant he’d recently shot someone. A woman followed closely behind him. Q didn’t recognize her. She was of medium height and slender, with blonde hair slicked back into a bun and the most unimpressed expression that Q had ever seen.

“Uh, Bond,” Q said awkwardly, somewhere between frustration and annoyance. Did the man have no sense of propriety whatsoever? Honestly, it was days like this that Q seriously questioned his taste in caregivers.

“It’s fine, Q. She knows,” Bond said dismissively, moving to the opposite side of the room to peer out the window in such a way that definitely suggested there might be trouble forthcoming. Normally Q would’ve just rolled his eyes, but the memory of his fortunate escape was lingering a bit too close for comfort. His stomach clenched uncomfortably as he shut the door and locked it again.

“I’m Dr Madeleine Swann,” the woman said, shooting an irritated look in Bond’s direction. “I’m not sure what, exactly, I am supposed to know, but I gather you’re the colleague from MI6?”

“… Yes, that’s me,” Q said, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the slight pause that he hadn’t been able to help. Did she think he was another agent, or had Bond told her that he was the Quartermaster? Not that it mattered either way, so long as she wasn’t expecting him to leap in front of any bullets for her.

“A pleasure,” Swann said with a thin smile that made it very clear that their meeting was anything but a pleasure.

“What did you find?” Bond asked, apparently having tired of looking out the window. He turned a penetrating stare on Q. For a split second, Q worried that Bond might see through him and recognize how close Q was to slipping – but of course, that didn’t happen. Bond was too deep into the mission to be concerned with anything other than that. Q wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or frustrated.

“It seems that I owe you an apology,” Q said quietly, returning to the desk and his laptop. He stared at the screen as he told Bond and Swann what he had found, not daring to look at Bond and not wanting to look at Swann. Both remained unnervingly quiet, the only sound in the room Q’s voice, until Q ran out of things to say and descended into an uncomfortable silence.

What if Swann was a Little? The thought popped into Q’s head uninvited, deepening his discomfort. He wrapped his arms loosely around his waist, biting his lower lip and wishing he were alone so he could suck his thumb – or better yet, a dummy. Not that he had ever told Bond as much, but one of his deepest fears was that someday Bond would go on a mission and stumble across a Little he liked better than Q. 

Because he didn’t mind it when Bond had sex with women, but another Little? That would be taking things a step too far. That was a threat. One of the reasons Bond had remained without a Little for so long was because of the nature of his job; Q slotted very nicely into the thin cracks of Bond’s life, but their relationship, such as it was, was hardly traditional. If it were, Q would’ve had no qualms about flinging himself across the room and into Bond’s arms the moment the man walked into the room.

But it wasn’t. And here was a young woman, slender and blonde and fiery just the way that Bond liked them, who knew what Bond’s job and was unbothered by it. She might fit into the cracks of Bond’s life too. Maybe even better than Q did. The thought was unsettling enough that Q dug his nails into the soft flesh on the underside of his arm to keep himself from saying something that he might regret.

He listened vaguely as Swann and Bond had a conversation that was all half-finished sentences and meaningful looks, feeling more nauseated with every word. By the time they’d decided what their next step was, Q just wanted them to go already. He wanted to lock the door back up (and perhaps put a chair beneath the knob this time) and then indulge himself with a long, hot bath and a good cry.

“Let’s go,” Bond announced, striding towards the door.

“Wait,” Swann said, in a tone that allowed for no argument. Q glanced up and was startled to realize that she was watching _him_ , her eyes narrowed in such a way that he immediately straightened up and attempted to pretend that he’d been paying attention all along. Bond turned around to look at Q too, though his expression was one of confusion.

“What?” Q asked in the calmest voice he could muster; it was the one he used when Tanner or some other member of staff was being particularly pernickety and wearing on his patience, or when a 00-agent was being overly troublesome. He had practiced that voice multiple times over, until he could whip it out on a whim and apply it to even the worst of situations.

Swann didn’t even blink. “Are you…” she trailed off and took a step forward, eyebrows furrowing. She stared at him hard, then recoiled with parted lips. She looked at Bond, then back at Q, then again at Bond.

“What?” Bond repeated, looking irritated now.

“Is he your Little?” Swann asked, gesturing to Q.

Q’s mouth dropped open.

Bond looked momentarily taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “I don’t see what difference that makes.”

“He is,” Swann breathed, as though that one realization had solved a puzzle. Perhaps it had, because in the next instant she’d stomped her foot and exclaimed, “Are you serious right now? You don’t see the problem in leaving him here alone?!”

“I have a job to do. We both to do,” Bond said, annoyed. 

“He’s overwhelmed and too close to his headspace to be left alone!” Swann snapped.

“Uh, _he_ is right here,” Q said, but neither of them heard him.

“You’re seeing things. Q is a member of MI6. He’s here in that capacity, not as my Little!” Bond said.

“Official capacity or not, I’ve worked with Littles for over fifteen years! I know when one is in danger of dropping!” Swann countered. In her anger, she’d taken steps closer to Bond. Now, they were face to face and all but yelling at each other. Q spared a moment to hope that the rooms on either side of them were unoccupied.

“Q is fine!”

“No, he’s not!”

“You don’t even know him!”

“I am a trained and licensed –”

“Yes, yes, I know, you’re a psychiatrist –”

“I’m a _psychologist_ , you –”

“Okay,” Q said, much more loudly this time. “You two just – yeah. I’m gonna – ” His breath caught, and Bond’s head whipped around. But Q was no longer looking; he’d ducked his head and got to his feet, shuffling across the room towards the loo. The yelling, on top of everything else, was too much.

He got into the tub without undressing, but it was alright because he didn’t turn the water on either. Instead he pulled his legs up against his chest and rested his forehead on his knees, winding his arms around his legs. The compact position did little to ease his breathing, which was suddenly a strain, but it made Q fill better in other ways. Sometimes attracting less attention was a very good thing indeed.

It stayed quiet out in the other room. He distantly wondered if perhaps the two of them had murdered each other – he wouldn’t have put it past Swann, the way she was glowering at Bond. There was a thin line between love and hate though, or so everyone said. Bond would no doubt prefer a Little who could keep themselves together in a tough situation… one who wouldn’t crumble to pieces just because of an attempted to kidnapping…

Someone knocked on the door.

Q tensed.

“Q, it’s me. May I come in?”

Rather than respond, Q remained quiet. Bond seemed to take that as answer in itself, because the door cracked open a moment later and Bond poked his head into the room. Q didn’t lift his head to look. He didn’t want to see whatever expression was on Bond’s face. He curled up even tighter, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lower lip so hard that it hurt. He heard a shuffling sound.

Then fingers touched the top of his head. Gentle, so very gentle, combing through his hair just the way that Q liked it. He tensed up again in shock.

“I’m sorry, Q,” Bond said quietly. “I didn’t notice. Rather pathetic that someone who doesn’t even know you noticed before I did…” He trailed off and sighed, then moved again. The next thing Q knew, Bond was sitting down in the bathtub with him and hugging him.

“The mission,” Q whispered.

“Sod the mission. It’ll still be there in the morning,” Bond said. “Swann is… well, she’ll be fine for the night. Tomorrow morning we’ll depart together. I’ll make arrangements.” He didn’t go into details about what those arrangements would be, but Q didn’t care. It was enough, right then, that Bond was there with him.


	2. Chapter 2

At some point while they were in the bathtub, Bond took out his mobile and started texting someone. Q could’ve lifted his head to see who it was, but all things considered he’d rather not know: embarrassment itched under his skin. The mission, even an unofficial, unsanctioned one, was supposed to be prioritized over everything else. Every MI6 agent or staff had that drummed into their heads from day one. 

Q was compromising the mission. _Had_ already compromised things. Swann and Bond should’ve been out of the hotel by now. They should’ve been on their way to Morocco to find the hotel that Swann had talked about. Instead, Swann had presumably gone off to a room of her own and Bond was here, one arm wrapped around Q’s shoulders and his free hand preoccupied with his mobile.

Guilt was a heavy weight to bear, and Q found himself whispering, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Bond said immediately.

“I’m taking your focus away,” Q said, the words thick. “I know you said the mission will be there tomorrow, but I –” His shoulders shuddered and he gulped. “I should be able to handle things like this better, you know?”

“Things like what?”

Q didn’t answer.

“Q.” Bond set the mobile aside and gently grasped Q’s chin, lifting his head so that their eyes met. Having those pale blue eyes boring into him was both comforting and intrusive, a peculiar mix of emotions that always left Q off-kilter. No one, he had discovered early on, had eyes like James Bond.

“It’s nothing,” Q said.

“Q, tell me. Things like _what_?” Bond repeated, a stern tone creeping into his voice. Had they been anywhere else, Q would’ve felt capable of ignoring that tone. But right here, right now, he could feel himself caving even though he tried not to. This wasn’t something that Bond needed to be worrying about. Not here, not now, when there were so many more important things to be concerned over.

Despite that, the words spilled out: “I was trying to look up information on my laptop, but there were these two guys…” Q mumbled.

“Two guys?” Bond echoed, eyes sharpening. “And what did these two guys do?”

“Followed me. Tried to isolate me. Chased me when I ran,” Q admitted. It sounded so silly when he spoke about it that a warm flush coloured his cheeks. Neither of those two men had actually touched him, after all. Bond ran into more dangerous things just walking to the corner store. 

But from the expression of rage on Bond’s face, you would have thought that Q had just announced that the two men had dragged him into a dark room and beaten him black and blue. Perhaps, Q reflected tiredly, Bond was imagining just that. Personally, Q had been working very hard on _not_ thinking about what would have happened had those two men grabbed him. 

“I’ll kill them,” Bond vowed. “I’m going to tear that bloody organization apart with my bare hands.” He finally let go of Q’s chin, only to pull Q into a firm hug.

Q went eagerly, sinking into it and throwing his arms around Bond with a muffled sob he couldn’t contain no matter how hard he tried. Having Bond so close made Q feel safe at last; he tried not to fall into the childish notion that Bond could do anything and was capable of keeping him safe no matter what, but it was hard. In moments like this, Bond seemed absurdly powerful.

“You’re shaking. Come on, Q. Let’s get you into some pyjamas and under blankets,” Bond said. He stood, displaying a frankly unfair amount of grace for someone who was wearing dress shoes in a tub, and effortlessly pulled Q up with him. 

“Don’t wanna,” Q muttered. “I like the tub.”

Bond huffed a laugh and outright picked Q up, removing the option of staying where he was entirely. Q pouted but didn’t argue, wrapping his arms around Bond’s neck and his legs around Bond’s waist. Most of the time he was very appreciative of a caregiver’s naturally heightened strength, given that it allowed Bond to carry him like any other child, but in moments like this it was just a pain in the arse. 

He couldn’t help looking around for Swann as they passed back into the bedroom, but there was no sign of her and he had to admit that he was relieved. Something about her made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, and he would have insisted on her and Bond departing that very night had she still been hanging around. He would’ve rather dealt with everything him than do it while she watched.

“You’re fussy tonight,” Bond murmured, the observation made more to himself than to Q. 

“Am not,” Q said sulkily.

Rather than respond to that, Bond just walked over to where Q had stored his overnight bag and picked it up with his free hand. He set it on the bed and then placed Q down next to it; Q rolled away, wrapping his arms around himself and closing his eyes as Bond unzipped the bag. He already knew what Bond would find inside, of course, and knew that it would be telling.

Sure enough, there was a significant pause that spoke volumes. More than ever, Q regretted his impulsive decision to shove a stuffed toy into the bag at the last moment. It was a fat yellow duck with big black eyes and soft, downy wings. Alec had bought it for him several months ago, and it had immediately become Q’s favourite toy to cuddle with when he was in his headspace.

“Q…” Bond sighed. “You shouldn’t have come if you were this close to your headspace. It was dangerous.”

“You needed me,” Q said churlishly. “And work comes first. We both know that.” He had to focus to make each word come out properly. He was relaxing now, sliding ever closer to his headspace, and fast reaching the place where it was harder to make cohesive arguments.

“Right,” Bond said, but quietly. He didn’t say anything else as he rummaged through the bag, but a moment later familiar hands fell on Q’s hips.

Q kept his eyes shut as his shoes, socks, and trousers were removed. By some miracle, he wasn’t wet. So Bond skipped a change, instead helping Q to sit up and divesting him of his jumper and shirt. Q shivered a little in the unexpected chill of the room; something soft and comfortable was pulled over his head, mindful of his glasses, and he slid his arms through the holes without being asked.

“There you go,” Bond said. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Q said. His lips were still forming the ‘o’ when a dummy was pushed into his mouth. One eye popped open and he glared at Bond, who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

“Don’t pout. You haven’t washed your hands. Who knows where your thumbs have been?” Bond slid off the bed and moved the bag, leaving behind the stuffed toy. Q gave in to his desire and rolled onto his opposite side, pulling the toy into his arms and burying his face in the yellow fluff.

He wished Alec was here. He wished they weren’t on a mission. He wished they were home in the flat they shared. He wished he was in his crib, listening to the faint sounds of Bond puttering around the kitchen or, better yet, Bond Alec bickering with each other – Alec often stayed with them when he was in London, and he’d taken up the mantle of uncle proudly. Q always felt safest when the two 00-agents were near.

Instead, he was laying on an unfamiliar, uncomfortable hotel bed listening to Bond shuffle around the room. Tempting though it was to lift his head and see what Bond was doing, Q refrained. He was very tired after everything that had happened and sleepiness was creeping up on him fast; it was sometimes the easiest way to fob off his headspace for just a bit longer, and if he could just let go –

“Hey. Don’t fall sleep on me,” Bond’s voice said in his ear.

Q wrinkled his nose and gave a voiceless whine.

“I know, but you have to eat.”

Food was the last thing Q wanted. He shook his head.

“Sorry, but it’s not optional. Come on.” Bond’s hands gently pried the toy away from him, leaving Q torn between glaring at him and trying to pull the toy back. Unphased, Bond showed him the bottle he was holding. It was mostly full of pink liquid. A nutrition shake, Q belatedly realized. Bond must have found the ones Q had stored in the bottom of his bag. Q always kept a few around because they were an easy meal replacement.

Bond sat on the bed, lifting Q’s upper body into his lap. Quickly and easily, he slid the dummy out of Q’s mouth and substituted the nipple of the bottle. Q was sorely tempted to get a mouthful and spit it out in Bond’s face, but that would only backfire in two ways: Bond would easily dodge it and it would only end in Q being punished, which was the last thing that Q wanted right now no matter how out of sorts he was feeling.

“You’re hungry, Q. You always get cranky when you’re hungry,” Bond said lightly, giving the bottle a squeeze so that some of the shake splashed onto Q’s tongue. It tasted good, better than Q had expected. Annoyed, he started sucking.

Tension that he hadn’t previously noticed in Bond began to ease as Q drank, and Q could feel himself relaxing in response to it. When they’d first begun, Q had been shy and uncertain. He hadn’t known what, if anything, Bond would get from this. But this… _this_ was what Bond got. Simple, peaceful moments in an otherwise tumultuous world. Everyone demanded a lot from a 00-agent: that was the nature of the job. And Q was demanding like this too, but the difference was that Bond could actually _fulfil_ all of Q’s needs here. He always knew how to make Q happy, and that was invaluable.

The meal replacement shake turned out to be exactly what Q needed at the moment – Bond was annoyingly good at that. A full belly eased the shaking in Q’s hands and left him feeling fatigued, though not ready to sleep yet. When the bottle was done, Bond took it away and lifted him up, gently patting his back. Q burped, then relaxed into the warmth of Bond’s chest.

“Daddy,” he whispered. He only ever called Bond that when he was at his littlest, yet right now it felt right.

Bond’s arms tightened around him. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

“Story?” Q asked. If they were home, and neither of them were preoccupied with work, this was right about the time when Bond would settle him down and then read to him. Or, if Q were lucky, Bond would either make up a story or talk about one of his previous missions. He was an excellent storyteller, probably because he got plenty of practice on missions, and Q loved to hear him talk.

“A story, huh?” Bond thought for a moment as he popped the dummy back in Q’s mouth and handed him the duck. Then he smirked. “How about a story about Uncle Alec? Did I ever tell you about the time that he ended up naked in the middle of New York?”

Q shook his head, intrigued, and snuggled in closer as Bond started to talk. Somehow, either by accident or design, Alec’s missions almost always went off the rails in some way. It drove the old M absolutely bonkers. This one was no different. Q smiled sleepily as he listened to Bond’s account of how Alec had decided to pick up a woman, only to find that said woman was the very agent he’d been sent to deal with. She had blindsided him in the middle of sex and chased him outside, starting a city-wide naked hunt.

He wanted to stay awake long enough to hear how it ended – probably with Alec being thrown in prison for public exposure, knowing Alec – but his eyes were heavy. He closed them for a moment, but quickly sank into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Knocking at the door woke Q from a sound sleep; before he’d even fully opened his eyes, Bond was off the bed and stalking over to the door to see who it was. Q blinked groggily and fumbled around for his glasses, finally locating them on the nightstand as he listened to the sound of a hushed conversation. He slid them on and squinted at the door just in time to see Bond close it, belatedly realizing that Bond was holding his gun. Well, of course he was. No telling if the person at the door was a friend or foe.

“Who was it?” Q asked, voice roughened by sleep. There was a crusty patch on his cheek, which often happened when he fell asleep with a dummy in his mouth. He rubbed at it half-heartedly.

“Swann. She wanted to know what time we’re leaving. I told her that we’re taking the train that leaves at 11,” Bond replied, holstering his gun. He still looked tired, but a hell of a lot more refreshed than he had last night. He’d slept for at least a few hours then, which was good. Like all agents, Bond was susceptible to getting so wrapped up in a mission that things like food and sleep fell to the wayside.

Q nodded and pushed himself up. The room spun a bit and he must have swayed, because suddenly Bond was there with a firm hand on his shoulder. He let himself lean into the touch as he sat up the rest of the way, laying his head against Bond’s hip. He could feel the curve of the gun beneath his cheek – or one of them, anyway, since Bond always carried at least three – but such things had long since ceased to bother him. In fact, he found them comforting.

“Feeling any better?” Bond asked, voice softening.

Humming in response, Q closed his eyes. If he were being honest, he would’ve said that he was still sleepy and could’ve used another three or four hours at least. And that taking a train ride was honestly the _last_ thing he felt like doing, and that he would’ve much preferred if they could stay exactly where they were. A calm, quiet day where Q didn’t have to worry about anything, and he could leave it all in Bond’s capable hands, sounded spectacular.

Bond’s opposite hand moved to his head, running through his hair. “Q, listen to me. Are you listening? Good. I need you to stay in your headspace, or as close to it as you can manage.”

Q frowned at that. “Why?”

“Because everyone will be looking for a man and a woman, or two men and a woman. It’s unlikely that anyone would think to look for a husband and wife with a Little.”

It only took a second for the implications of that to sink in, and when it did Q wrinkled his nose. “Are you saying I have to pretend like she’s my mum?” he asked, unable to even bring himself to say the word ‘mummy’. It had taken him a while to be comfortable with calling Bond ‘daddy’. He couldn’t fathom using that word for a perfect stranger!

Bond sighed. “It’s not ideal, Q. I recognize that and I know you don’t like it; frankly, I don’t like it either. But I do think it’s our best change at getting to where we need to be without any trouble. The alternative is letting you go off on your own while I deal with Swann, which is not happening.”

“I can take care of myself,” Q said indignantly.

There was a slight pause, as though Bond was contemplating how best to respond, before he said, “I know you can, but right now I would feel more comfortable if you stayed with me. We don’t know who’s watching and we don’t know when they might strike.” And then, as though sensing Q was going to continue to protest, he added, “It’s for the sake of the mission too. Like I said, Swann will be less noticeable if she’s with the two of us.”

Q’s scowl deepened, because that was a dirty trick. “I don’t want to,” he whined.

“I know, but you’ll do it anyway, right?”

“… Fine,” Q muttered, pulling away. It was important that Bond and Swann got to where they needed to go. And if Q being with them and playing the part of the helpless Little would get them there faster, he supposed he had no choice. 

“Thank you,” Bond said. “Now, we’re leaving in an hour. Do you want help getting changed?”

“No,” Q said, even though he did. He swung his legs over the bed and stood, marching into the loo alone and pointedly closing the door behind him. He took the opportunity to take a long, hot shower; his legs were still wobbly, so he sat on the floor of tub and half-heartedly washed himself. Once the water began to run cold, he climbed out, dried, and opened the door a crack.

There was a set of fresh clothing waiting for him. Q grabbed it and shut the door, frowning when he saw that Bond had opted for a nappy. Q typically only wore those in the privacy of their flat. When he was working, he opted for a high absorbency pull-up that was almost indistinguishable from regular pants. He knew that Bond had chosen the nappy for a reason: paired with denim jeans, the puffiness of the nappy would be noticeable and it would add credence to their scheme.

“Bloody Bond,” he mumbled, clumsily putting on the nappy. He’d fallen out of practice after meeting Bond and Alec. He hauled on the jeans and shirt, then glanced at himself in the mirror. His hair was already curling as it dried; there wasn’t much he’d be able to do to tame it without some products.

“Q, come on. We have to go,” Bond said, rapping on the door.

Bollocks. Q drew himself up and opened the door. Bond had Q’s bag draped over his shoulder. Without asking, he took Q by the hand and led Q over to the door. Swann was waiting on the other side, a suitcase beside her. She had her hair and make-up impeccably down, and was wearing dark slacks, a blue blouse, and a black suit jacket. She and Bond, who was of course in a suit, looked like a match.

“How exactly do you expect us to get down the hill?” Swann demanded without so much as a ‘good morning’. “Are you planning to rent a vehicle?”

“They’ll be watching for that,” Bond told her, jerking his chin. He tightened his grip on Q’s hand and began walking quickly; Q hurried to keep up, glancing back in time to see Swann huff in annoyance and hasten after them, pulling her suitcase along on its little wheels. Q allowed himself a tiny smile in appreciation of her frustration.

Naturally, Bond’s plan involved hotwiring one of the vehicles that hotel owned. Swann made some noises about the illegality of the situation, which both Bond and Q ignored – now wasn’t the time to worry about such things. Q crawled into the driver’s seat and easily hacked into the car’s onboard computer, forcing it to start. Then he was relocated to the backseat, with Bond in the driver’s seat and Swann in the passenger’s seat, much to his displeasure.

He curled up in a little ball and stared silently out the window as Bond backed the car out of the space and drove out of the parking lot. Swann and Bond were quiet too, and Q didn’t think it was his imagination that Bond kept glancing repeatedly into the rear-view mirror. Checking, no doubt, for anyone who might be following them. Q hoped like hell that no one was. He really wasn’t in the mood to handle a high-speed car chase.

The drive to the train station took about four hours. The further away they got, the more Bond and Swann relaxed. Swann took a book out of her bag and began reading it, seemingly content to ignore all of them. That was fine with Q. He rested his head against the glass of the window and slipped his thumb in his mouth, closing his eyes. The movement of the car, even though it wasn’t _nearly_ as smooth as the car that he had built for Bond, was nevertheless soothing, and he quickly drifted off to sleep.

He awoke to the car door being pulled open. A familiar cologne wafted past his nose as someone – Bond – leaned across him to unlatch the seatbelt. In a move too practiced to be faked, Bond’s hands gripped Q’s arms and smoothly pulled Q from the car and up into Bond’s arms. Q sluggishly slung his arms around Bond’s neck and cuddled into him, cracking open an eye to see where they were.

It was a train station, bustling and crowded with plenty of people. Swann stood nearby, watching Q and Bond with a thoughtful expression; Q scowled at her and tightened his grip on Bond. Her eyebrows rose slightly and then she smiled. It made her look softer in the face, and more like she wanted to be there with them as opposed to being there against her will. She kept her smile as Bond gathered the luggage and they climbed aboard the train.

They found an empty compartment, where Bond set Q and the bags down. As Bond stepped out into the hall to pay for their tickets from the conductor that was walking around, Swann set her luggage in the corner and sat down across from Q. She spent a moment straightening her jacket and smoothing down several wisps of hair that had come free from her bun.

Then she said, “I’m not interested in him, you know.”

Unwilling to speak, Q merely frowned. But Swann nodded as surely as though he’d spoken.

“I’m not a Little or a Caregiver. I’m a baseline,” she explained. “I only recognized you because I’ve done so much work with Littles. I’m glad that I did, because – well, he has someone waiting at home for him, doesn’t he? A Little should always come first in their daddy’s eyes.” And she smiled again, but this time it was distinctly sadder.

It wasn’t often that Q stumbled across someone who wasn’t a Little, but who wished they were. He blinked at her, realizing that Swann may very well have fit that criteria. But then, Bond was a pretty spectacular daddy all things considered. He supposed he couldn’t blame Swann for being envious of that… though he wished he had the words to explain to her how long it had taken him to find Bond, and just what he had gone through as a Little before that. It was, for the most part, good now because he had Bond, but it hadn’t always been like this.

The door slid open and Bond came in. “Got them,” he said, displaying the three tickets with a flourish. “The conductor told me that I have a lovely family.” He smirked.

Swann rolled her eyes as she took one of the tickets. Her mouth tugged down into a frown as she read it. “Italy?”

“We’re taking the roundabout way,” he said, sitting down beside Q. He tucked his and Q’s tickets into the front pocket of his coat. “From there, you and I will fly to America under an assumed name.”

“What about Q?” Swann said, eyes flicking to Q. 

“I’ve made alternate plans for Q,” Bond replied. He didn’t elaborate, but Q supposed that meant he’d be on his own once they got to Italy. It wouldn’t be safe or smart to follow Bond and Swann to the airport – thank god – so he’d have to take a train somewhere else. Possibly all the way back to England, which was frankly fine with Q.

It meant that he had a little while longer to indulge himself in leaning against Bond, so Q did. Bond lifted his arm and allowed Q to slide under it; Q snuggled into him and caught a glimpse of Swann watching. For a split second, the expression on her face was unmistakably wistful. Then, just as quickly, the look was gone, and she lifted her head to stare out the window instead.

Bond didn’t seem to have noticed the look, though Q would have bet good money that he had and was just letting it go for the time being. Every once in a while, James Bond was capable of that kind of tact. Most likely he was filing the moment away for future use. He was annoying like that and had done such a thing to Q several times over. He hoped Swann was prepared for that.

The train began to move a few minutes later. Swann let out an audible breath of relief, this time looking relieved, but Bond remained tense and Q understood why. Just because they were on a moving train didn’t mean they were out of danger, since they could have easily been followed, but neither of them was about to tell Swann that. Q just closed his eyes again and tried to relax for as long as he could.


	4. Chapter 4

“Good evening. Can I interest you in anything to eat or drink?” The porter wore a friendly smile, even though he wasn’t exactly getting a warm reception.

“I’d love a glass of wine,” Swann said, closing her book.

“Certainly, ma’am. And for your little boy?”

Q bristled. Bond set a hand on his knee and smiled. “Have you any juice? Apple or grape – oh wait, he’s allergic to grape, isn’t he?” He turned to Swann.

“Yes,” Swann said after a split-second pause. 

“Apple, then,” the porter said cheerfully, bending over his cart. He picked up a bottle of apple juice and handed it to Swann, then followed it up with a glass of red wine. Then he turned to Bond with an expectant look.

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Bond said, handing the man a few quid. The porter took the money and pushed his cart to the next door; Bond shut their door and swiftly turned to Swann, snatching the glass of wine out of her hands. Before she could react, he opened the small window and dumped the wine outside.

“Do you mind? What is your problem?!” Swann demanded furiously, jumping to her feet. The bottle of apple juice fell to the ground.

“I’m trying to keep you alive,” Bond shot back. “He poured that from an open bottle. Have you any idea what kinds of poisons or toxins could be slipped into wine?”

Swann froze. “Um –”

“I didn’t think so. The answer is a lot.” For good measure, he tossed the wine glass out the window too before shutting it. Then he grabbed the bottle of juice from the floor and cracked it open, taking a sip before he passed it to Q. Some people might have thought he did it because he was thirsty; Q knew better. Bond didn’t even like apple juice, but that wouldn’t stop him from acting as a tester just in case a particularly intelligent enemy had managed to bypass the seal.

Swann sat again, still looking a bit shell-shocked, and Q resisted the urge to shake his head scornfully. For all her insistence that she had grown up in this world, or at least one very similar to it, Swann sure wasn’t acting like it. He supposed that she had never had to seriously consider something like that before. But if she wanted to survive long enough to bring down her enemies, she needed to start.

He took a very careful sip of his juice, wishing that it was in a baby bottle or at least a sippy cup. He wasn’t always the most coordinated person when he wasn’t in his headspace, never mind when he was. He just barely avoided spilling the juice all over himself when the train leaned into a slight curve and gave up on drinking it altogether when the condensation on the outside made it slippery and he almost dropped it. Even though he was still thirsty, he resignedly handed the bottle back to Bond. 

“The wine wasn’t poisoned,” Swann said finally, though it was hard to tell who she was trying to convince. “We got away from them. They don’t know where are.”

“They may know where we’re headed,” Bond countered. “The absence of the car will be noticed at some point. We can’t know when. There are only so many ways to travel. Eventually, they’ll find the car at the station and know for sure we took a train. Are you so sure that hasn’t already happened that you’re willing to bet your life on a glass of wine?”

Swann paled a little more but said nothing.

“Killing your enemies quietly with a poison or toxin, particularly one that mimics the effects of a heart attack, is much easier than a gun fight or, say, a kidnapping,” he continued, raising his eyebrows at her. “They wanted you, but I can guarantee they would rather you were dead than outside their control. Think about that, Dr. Swann, the next time that you decide to eat or drink something when you don’t know whose hands its been in.”

An awkward silence fell after that, and eventually Swann picked her book back up and hid behind it. Q tried not to be too obvious about rolling his eyes. Suddenly he didn’t mind the fact that he wasn’t going the rest of the way with them, if this was how it was going to be. Bond could be prickly when he felt that things weren't going his way, or when he felt that people were being unnecessarily reckless - and no, the irony of that fact wasn't missed on Q. Swann, on the other hand, had the air of someone who was way too stubborn to admit when she was wrong. It was a recipe for disaster, and the tension quickly deepened to the point where you could've cut it with a knife. 

Q decided he needed a break and stood up. "Let me out, please."

"Where are you going?" Bond demanded, immediately on alert.

"I need the loo," Q replied. Normally he wasn't averse to using a nappy even when he wasn't fully in his headspace, but there was no way he was allowing himself to be changed in front of Swann. Of course, Bond could've followed him to the loo - but Q knew enough to know that the loos on trains were notoriously small, comparable to those on airplanes, and it wouldn't be a comfortable experience for either of them. Better and easier to just go ahead and piss in the toilet since he was aware he needed to go.

"I'll go with you," Swann spoke up before Bond could answer, closing her book and standing.

"I'll go too," Bond said.

Swann scoffed. "Don't be silly. Weren't you the one who was just preaching about keeping a close eye on things? Someone could come in and mess with our stuff if all three of us are gone," she said. "Q and I will be fine. The loo is just down the hall."

She had a point and Bond knew it, judging by the frown on his face. He reluctantly shuffled so that Q could get past him. Q opened the door of the compartment and stepped into the hall. All of the other compartment doors were closed, so he left theirs open - that way, if something did happen, Bond would be able to hear about it. Besides, he knew without looking that Bond was leaning into the hall to watch their progress as Q and Swann made their way down. Q turned left into the men's room and she went right into the women's, and Q wondered if she was breathing a sigh of relief too for the moment alone.

He pulled the nappy down and did what he needed to do, then pulled it back up and reattached the straps with a wrinkle of his nose. A fresh one would've felt a lot better, but again that wasn't something he was willing to ask for. He washed his hands and looked at himself in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were, at least, partially hidden by his glasses, but that didn't mean much. He still looked tired and worn, which was a perfect representation of how he was feeling. He couldn't wait to get back to London; the madness wouldn't stop, but at least he'd be able to handle things from inside MI6 as opposed to out here.

When he couldn't delay any longer without Bond coming to find him, Q cracked the door open and jumped when he realized that Swann and the porter were standing right outside. Swann had a strained smile on her face, but the porter gave a genuine smile as Q emerged.

"Ah, I was just asking your mum if you'd fallen in!" he exclaimed with a chuckle.

"Nope. All good," Q mumbled uncomfortably.

"Shy one, huh?" the porter said with a knowing look at Swann.

"Very much so," Swann said. "Come on, Q. Let's go see what Daddy's doing."

It was awkward beyond words to hear "Daddy" come out of Swann's mouth. Q couldn't help his grimace. He wouldn't be calling Bond that again anytime soon.

"Right, let me just get out of your way." The porter edged past Q, forcing him to step closer to Swann. She rested a hand on his shoulder to balance him, and he had to fight the urge to flinch away from her - he didn't like being touched by anyone but Bond or Alec. But it would've looked strange if he'd flinched away from his "mum", so he forced himself to stand still until the porter had passed and there was enough space for him to naturally duck out from under Swann's hand and head back towards the compartment. 

"Better?" Bond asked, an amused smirk on his face as Q approached.

"Shut up," Q hissed, stalking by him. He sat down as close to the window as he could, putting ample space between him and Bond. He was thoroughly fed up with this stupid plan, and Bond's amusement was not doing anything to improve his mood.

Swann joined them a moment later, sighing as she slid the door shut. "Well, that was miserable. I've never met anyone so curious in my entire life."

"People are nosy," Bond said. "I hope you stuck to the cover story."

"You were listening; surely you know I do," she retorted, sitting. "What are we going to tell people when Q leaves?"

"We're a couple going on vacation while my brother watches our Little," Bond said smoothly, clearly having thought this through already. “Plenty of couples do that; it won’t give anyone cause for alarm.”

“Right,” Swann said, taking a seat. 

They sat in tense silence for the next half hour, until the train finally pulled into the station. The three of them stood, and Q left the compartment first, followed by Swann and then with Bond bringing up the rear. It was the end of the line for the train, so there were a ton of people departing. Q’s discomfort heightened as he stepped off the train and looked around, highly aware that anyone could be the enemy –

“Q! Over here!”

Q’s head snapped around and his eyes widened as he spotted Alec Trevelyan swiftly making his way towards them. Unlike most people, Alec had no problem getting through crowds: people got out of his way. Q dropped his bag and ran towards him, flinging himself into Alec’s open arms the instant Alec was close enough for him to do so. Alec scooped him up into a hug, taking Q’s feet right off the ground.

“Привет детка,” Alec murmured, the warm rumble of his Russian accent seeping into Q’s bones. Q hugged him tighter in response, burying his face in Alec’s shoulder and wrapping his legs around Alec’s waist. 

Unlike Bond, Alec wasn’t on a mission right now if Q remembered correctly. He had just come off a two-month undercover mission, and it was standard MI6 protocol for agents, even 00-agents, to have some downtime after a prolonged mission. That meant he was here in the capacity of Q’s uncle, not as an agent. Q could’ve cried from relief and might have had they not been in the middle of a crowd.

“Shh, it’s okay now,” Alec said, rubbing Q’s back. “Hullo, James. This my new sister-in-law?”

“This is here,” Bond said. “You’re good?”

“All good,” Alec said. “Q and I might stay to see the sights before we head home.” He would’ve sounded casual to anyone who was eavesdropping; Q could read between the lines and knew that Alec meant they’d be staying put until Q was fully out of his headspace. The tips of his ears burned with shame.

“We have to head out. Here’s his bag.” Bond moved closer, and, under the guise of giving them both a hug goodbye, whispered, “I’m sorry, Q. I’ll make it up to you later, I swear.”

Then Bond’s arms were gone, and Q lifted his head just in time to see Bond and Swann vanishing into the crowds around them. Within seconds, the two of them were swallowed up and it was like they’d never been there at all. Alec shifted Q’s weight to one arm and stooped down to pick up Q’s abandoned bag with his free hand, then began walking in the opposite direction.

“Be glad you don’t have to go with them,” he said. 

“I am,” Q said, hugging his uncle tighter. It was moments like this where he was grateful that Alec was a caregiver too, and therefore afforded the same strength that Bond was. But Alec didn’t have a Little of his own; he had laughed when Q first asked him about it and said that any Little of Bond’s was more than enough Little for both of them. And since that meant Q got all of Alec’s attention when his uncle was around, he was certainly not complaining.

Alec carried him to the car park, and more specifically to a red sports car. He dumped Q’s bag into the backseat, put Q in the passenger seat, and then circled around to the driver’s side. He got in and shut the door but didn’t start the car right away.

“Are you okay?” he asked, very kindly.

“It was awful,” Q burst out. “He made me pretend that Swann was my mum!”

“He never,” Alec said, mouth twitching into a smile.

Q nodded tearfully. “She put her hand on my shoulder at one point. And they were so tense with each other.” He screwed up his face and added in a quieter voice, “I was trying to hold it together. I was doing a good enough job that Bond didn’t even notice. But then she did, and she told him, and –” He had to stop, because if he kept going, he would cry. He bit his lip instead.

Alec sighed and set a hand on Q’s knee. “That really does sound terrible, but at least it’s over now,” he said kindly. “Why don’t we go back to the hotel? You can get changed and then we’ll have something to eat.”

“I don’t have any other clothes with me,” Q admitted in a small voice. He hadn’t packed much, not having expected to be gone this long.

“I stopped by the flat and picked up some things,” Alec replied with a wink. “Can’t let my favourite nephew walk around naked.”

Q giggled and wiped his eyes. “Can we get some gelato?” he asked hopefully.

“Of course! I know just the place. Makes the best gelato I’ve ever had, and I’ve had lots.” Alec grinned and finally started up the car. “We can have a day or two to ourselves before we head back to London and straighten out that mess, okay?”

“Okay,” Q said, giving a genuine smile for the first time in days. He put on his seatbelt and leaned back into the seat, happily looking out the window as Alec backed the car out of the space and they drove off.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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